


The Dating Game

by anna-phora (xanaphorax)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25979170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanaphorax/pseuds/anna-phora
Summary: Dating is hard. But it’s even harder to watch the person you love dating other people.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Original Character(s), Diego Hargreeves & Original Female Character(s), Diego Hargreeves & Reader, Diego Hargreeves & You, Diego Hargreeves/Original Character(s), Diego Hargreeves/Original Female Character(s), Diego Hargreeves/Reader, Diego Hargreeves/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110





	1. alone together

They've been close since the Academy. Not the Umbrella shit, the police academy--which was, pretty much, more of the same shit. Still had to dress up in a dapper little uniform and take orders from superiors who hardly deserved the title. He spent his _childhood_ training to take down the bad guys and some thirty year old asshole who got his badge five years ago and aced some written test knew better than him? Bullshit.

She was one of the few people who put up with him at the time. Everyone else talked their shit and played the stupid game, as if blowing smoke up the instructors' ass would save them in the field. She was the only one who _listened._ Who took his tips on how to disarm over the trainers. Who questioned rules that would cost lives. Who put him in his place and drew lines between Number 2 and Diego Hargreeves he didn't know existed. 

So yeah, he's been in love with her for a while.

Which is why, when she calls asking him to come over, he turns off the police scanner, takes off the mask, and gets in his car. 

When she opens the door to her apartment, he can't help the small smile that quirks at the corner of his lips. She's so goddamn beautiful even in her leggings and _Synchronicity_ baseball tee he got her as a joke when she graduated the academy. She had laughed so hard she cried and then serenaded him with "Roxanne". It was the wrong album, but he couldn't have given less of a shit.

She, Sting, and the other two bastards are looking at him expectantly, so he quirks an eyebrow hoping that it turns his smile into more of a smirk. "You gonna let me in, or did you just want to show me your front door?"

She gives a mirthless pity laugh to tell him how not funny he is. "I was hoping you were the pizza guy."

"Sorry to disappoint," he shakes his head, and the smile situation is getting out of control.

"Not sorrier than I am," she says, heaving a long suffering sigh as she steps aside to let him inside. He doesn't even make it past her before she breaks and offers him a smile.

Diego snorts and turns towards what might as well be his second home. Or first. Hell, he's here more than he's ever in his shitty room at the boxing gym. The TV is on, blankets pooled in a semicircle on the couch, a bottle of wine and half empty glass in front of the spot. Her purse and keys sit on the table, heels kicked off under a chair. Other than that, the place is pristine as usual. 

He doesn't like the way this scene looks. 

"Thought you had a date tonight," he remarks, heading into the kitchen to get himself a wine glass. Behind him, the door clicks shut and her bare feet patter lightly against the floor.

"There was a miscommunication."

It's the way her voice is too light-- each word is carefully chosen. How under the chair's legs one shoe is on its side while the other is still standing. The fact that she's drinking red wine instead of those stupid Whiteclaws.

"He didn't show." Diego turns to her as he says this, watching to see the words reach her. When they do, her eyes shoot down to the ground and she gives a small shake of her head. 

"No." Her voice is soft and her eyes run over the scratch marks on the wooden floor from when she had him rearranging the furniture to make her new coffee table "aesthetically fit". It's threelong seconds before she speaks again. "He uh--meant to meet up with someone else."

Anger shoots through him, burning and vicious and _fuck_ wine as a solution. Diego strides forward, heading to the front door, when she reaches out a hand to stop him. "Don't."

He looks at her and tries to arrange his features into some semblance of innocent concern. "I'm just going to my car to get a bottle of whiskey I keep there." He has to pry his gaze away from hers because the look she's giving him makes his heart feel like it's going to implode. She looks at him as if she _sees_ him. She's the only person who's ever given him that look.

"Diego. Do not go interrupt his date to pick a fight."

 _"Fuck,"_ he curses under his breath because she sees right through the lie. He turns back to her, mouth open to deny the accusation when her look intensifies. 

"I know you Diego Hargreeves." 

No one has ever told him they love him.

But that sounds pretty damn close. 

She releases his arm because she knows that she's won or maybe she has some misplaced faith in his self-control. "I really appreciate that you want to kill him. Really, _really_ appreciate it. But I don't need you going to jail on assault charges. I need you here, drinking wine and watching TV with me. Unless you actually have that whiskey."

He shakes his head, thankful he doesn't have to respond because the fact that she needs him leaves him just about breathless. 

This time she curses under her breath, a soft _damn._ "You're such a tease," she comments, heading back to the couch and he goes back to get a wine glass from the cabinet.

“It's only for you, baby,” he calls over his shoulder. 

* * *

They’re two bottles of wine deep and it’s only 11 o’clock. She had apparently been joking about the pizza guy, much to Diego’s disappointment. When he voiced as much, her eyes got big and bright, and she grabbed his face in her hands. “Then let’s order a fucking pizza.” 

And then she slapped him, one cheek after the other and went to get her cell phone.

They’re still waiting on the pizza.

But his attention has been less on the grumbling in his stomach and more on the fact that Diana hasn't laughed once in the last forty minutes. She hasn't so much as cracked a smile. Not even when Esther stabs her hand in front of Hank. In fact, since the phone call for pizza she's hardly even said a word, and he can see what she's doing. She's torturing herself. Her attention isn't on _Barry_ , it's on the asshole she left at whatever bar to go on a date with someone who wasn't her. 

"Hey," he says, and she turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. At least she isn't that far down the rabbit hole. That's good. He's been there enough times to know how hard it is to pull yourself out of the cycle. To silence out the memories of voices you shouldn't give two shits about anymore and focus on what's in front of you. "How did Burger King get Dairy Queen pregnant?"

Her nose wrinkle and brow creases in confusion, and she stares at him like he's clinically insane. "What?" 

"Come on," he gestures, turning towards her so that their knees brush together. "How'd the Burger King get Dairy Queen pregnant?" 

She seems to catch on then, her face more skeptical than concerned for his sanity. "How?"

"He forgot to wrap his whopper." 

She just shakes her head, turning back to the TV. He wouldn't be Number 2 if he gave up now. "What should you do if you come across an elephant?"

"What?" her voice is flat and unamused, but it's not the same tone she gives him when she's done with his bullshit.

"Apologize and wipe it off." 

She cracks then, her lips fighting against her will to keep a straight face as the corner of her mouth twitches up into a smile. A small burst of air exhales through her nose. It's not a laugh, and it's not a smile, but it's a start.

""What's the difference between 'Oooh!' and 'Aaah!'?"

"Oh no--" 

"About three inches."

She bursts with laughter then, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. Her eyes crinkle in the corner, as she looks at him, shaking her head. He's gotten what he wanted, but what's one more joke?

"What goes in hard and dry and comes out wet and soft?" 

She almost chokes on the wine she's sipping to help her stop laughing. "Diego!" 

"Chewing gum. Why, what were you thinking?" 

"Fuck you," she says, pointing a finger at him, but she's laughing, so he starts laughing too. She sets her wine glass back down in front of her and crawls all the way on the couch, shuffling closer to him so she can beat his arm with both of her fists. 

"It's a good joke," he protests, laughing harder as she continues her assault. 

"It's so _not_ a good joke!" she argues back, tears streaming down from her eyes. But they're from laughter rather than what's going on in her head, so he'll take it. His arm is saved from the punching by a knock at the door. Naturally she moves to get up, but he shakes his head, gently pushing her back down into the couch and reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. 

The guy takes in his tactical outfit with a raised eyebrow, but doesn't say anything about it. Diego feels a bit sorry that he took off his knives. Scaring the pizza guy was always mildly entertaining for himself. Instead he passes along the money with a "Thanks man," and returns to Diana who has settled back into her spot. 

She gives him a warning look and holds up a finger at him again. "No jokes during the pizza." 

"What?" It's his turn to look at her like she's crazy. 

"I'll choke and die, and you don't want that on your conscience--and don't turn that into another joke," she adds quickly, preventing him from using the innuendo before he can even find it in the sentence.

"Fine," he says, sinking into his seat and putting the box of pizza on the coffee table. "No jokes. Just pizza."

She narrows her eyes suspiciously at him even as she reaches forward to pull out a slice. She doesn't break her gaze until she's swallowed and he bites into his own piece. There's a few moments of quiet between them, but it feels better than it did before the pizza. There's something lighter in the air between them, and he hopes she feels it too. 

"Thank you," she says, suddenly. 

It takes him a second and a quick glance around the apartment to realize that she means the pizza. He scoffs and waves the thanks off. 

"No, Diego, seriously. Thank you. For coming over," she sighs. "I needed this." 

"I'm always here for you," he said, nudging her with his shoulder. "You know that. Can't get rid of me even if you tried." 

She offers a small smile, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, wincing as she notices the pizza grease on her finger tips. Diego shouldn't be watching her this closely. He should focus on his pizza like a normal person. But he can't take his eyes off her. How she seems just a bit slower, just a bit quieter today. She runs her fingers over a napkin leaving a trail of yellow grease. "Do you wanna hear something sad?" she asks, her voice small.

"When you say it like that, how could I say no?" It was supposed to be a joke, but his voice is too soft.

She doesn't look at him, instead keeping her eyes fixated on the used napkin. 

"This isn't the first time that's happened. It's not even the first time that's happened this month." 

He wants to kill. He wants to wage a war against the boys on Tinder or Bumble or the force or wherever it is she's finding these assholes. But she needs him here. She told him she needs him.

"They're idiots," he says. "Complete fucking morons." 

"Statistics would suggest otherwise," she shook her head, looking back up at the tv, frozen on a close up of Bill Hader's face. "I mean...guy after guy, I'm always the one getting broken up with or ghosted. Is there something I'm not seeing? Seriously, Diego, is there something wrong with me?" She looks at him then, eyes shining and heartbreaking in the earnestness of the question. 

"There's not a single fucking thing wrong with you," he says, quickly wiping his own hands off so he can pull her in close. She wraps her arms around his middle, leaning her forehead into the crook of his neck. He can feel her breath against his skin. Feel her heartbeat. He holds her even tighter.

"I'm going to put that in my bio from now on. Not a single fucking thing wrong with me. Verified by Diego Hargreeves." She gives a single quiet laugh at her own joke, and Diego smiles, running his fingers through her hair. He isn't sure if it's as calming to her as it is to him, but her head feels a bit heavier as she relaxes more into him. 

“I don’t know. I think I’m just done with this all. Maybe I’ll like being alone," she sighs, wiggling a little bit closer. "With you of course. We can be alone together.”

'Yeah," his smile is bigger now, and he can feel her smiling against him too. “Yeah, we can do that.”


	2. shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating is hard. But it’s even harder when you know you’re dating the wrong people. The right guy just isn’t interested.

She's been into Diego Hargreeves since her police academy days, which is to say, a nearly obscene amount of time. It's hard to pinpoint exactly how long it's been, though, because as with most things, falling for him was a rather fluid process. One minute she was reveling in the fact that she was suddenly single for the first time in three and a half years. The next, she was hanging off every word in his tirade about saving teargas for bad guys rather than protestors. And yet, it also felt so sudden. As if he had come out of nowhere and clotheslined her the way he did one of the instructors in restraint training.

And while it's hard to say _when_ she fell for him, _why_ is entirely too easy. She liked him because he wasn't afraid. He was stupid and brash, but he was bold and honest when it mattered. But more than that, she liked how he cared so deeply and passionately about doing the right thing rather than doing things the right way. Even when it cost him.

Also, his _forearms_.

She's watching them now, muscles rippling under his tight long sleeved shirt as he raises the gun, his gaze intensely focused on the target. She hopes he doesn't see her staring in his periphery because it's pretty obvious she's not just checking his form. There's a breath and then he fires five rounds into the piece of paper, every shot precise and lethal.

"That's how it's done, baby," he grins, laying the gun down as he steps back to direct his excitement at her. As if he'd ever done anything _less_ than absolutely perfect at the range. Still, she can't help but smile back even as she roll her eyes. She loves it when he calls her baby. Even though he only ever says it to tease her, it still feels like it's _her_ nickname and hers alone.

Yeah. She's got it bad.

Which is unfortunate because he simply doesn't. He's never so much as shown a single bit of interest besides the first day he met her, and let his eyes linger on her body a little too long. But after that? Nothing. It soon became clear that he only had eyes for Eudora, and while it was tempting to be jealous it was all too understandable. She was gorgeous and smart and kind and obviously going to make a damn good cop. But even after that imploded, he never seemed interested. She'd come to the conclusion that they were simply too close, which was unfortunate but also fine.

It would be fine.

She just needs to follow her friends' advice and find someone new to focus on. And not just flings. She's tried the "get over by getting under" method and it just didn't work. She needs romance, a good personality, someone she wants to see again outside of the bedroom. What she needs is a boyfriend. Instead she's gotten:

Ghosted more times than she can count

Four no-shows for dates

One catfish

Five break up texts

Seven dick pics

Six angry men calling her a whore

Three dates that were meant for other people

The most recent of the "oops I texted the wrong girl" dates had been a week ago, and she suspects it's also the reason Diego dragged her out to the shooting range today. Diego doesn't talk about feelings-she learned that real quick-but he's more empathetic than he looks. He just doesn't know how to translate that into words. Thus, shooting range. It's sweet.

Except for the fact that he's an insufferable show off. That makes it a bit less sweet.

"Yeah, yeah, cheater," she huffs, moving forward to take his spot at the firing line. Obviously she can't tell if he cheated, but his arms had looked a bit too low for one of those shots to be as perfect as it was. She picks up the gun, waiting for his instructions, eyeing the target.

"Head right 7, body right 9, body bullseye, head bottom 9, body bottom 8," he decides. Of course he gave her more body than head shots.

It's tempting to insist that he keeps up the pretense that this is an even and fair competition and give her another head shot. But her time is running out, and who is she kidding-she'd like the win. So, she nods to confirm his choices before lifting the gun up and taking a breath in to clear her head of all else, the constant rejection, the unrequited crush, the stress at work, so she can focus. And then, she breathes out.

Her shots aren't as pretty as Diego's, but they all hit their marks.

"Not bad," he says as she places down the gun and then spins around to grin at him.

"Not bad?" she echoes back, gesturing to the target. "That's the best all day."

"That's the best _you_ got all day," he corrects, smugly. " _Not_ the best."

The smile vanishes from her face, replaced with narrowed eyes. "You're a dick."

He laughs then as she double checks the chamber to make sure the gun's unloaded and ready to be packed up. "A huge dick," she clarifies, placing the firearm in its case and turning to follow him out.

"Better than a small one," he shoots back, removing his headphones once the two enter the lobby.

If it weren't for range safety and all that, she'd kick him in the back of the knees. Instead, she settles on glaring at the back of his head as he checks both of them out, stuffing her safety glasses and headphones into her bag.

"I really hate you, you know that right?" she asks as they push through the door and out into the parking lot.

"Not sure I'd say that if I was the person who needs a ride home," Diego smirks at her over his shoulder as the pair reaches his car.

"Like there's even going to be room for me in the car anymore now that your head's so big," she says, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head. Before he has a chance to respond she speed walks to the passenger's seat and gets in before he can lock her out.

"You're lucky I like you," Diego says, pointing a finger at her before he climbs in, sticks the keys in the ignition and shifts into reverse. She takes her cell phone out of her pocket as he pulls out of the parking spot, hand resting on the back of her chair so he can look over his shoulder. Her cheeks grow hot and she's thankful that his eyes are on the road and hers are on her phone screen.

There are approximately 16 unread messages.

None of them are good.

In fact, she's feeling pretty crushed as she scrolls through them. It doesn't help when Diego withdraws his arm to shift the car into drive. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, and she tries to pull herself together but ends up just wilting into her seat. It's not ber friends' fault. Yesenia's babysitter fell through. Galilea was caught up with more work than she anticipated. Lilly probably really did need the extra time to study for her actuarial exam. These were all reasonable excuses. But it still sucked.

"What's up?" Diego asks as the car slows to a stop at the red light.

"Nothing," she says absent mindedly, texting out a message to the group. _Life happens How about next Saturday?_

Diego's eyes dart to her before going back to the road as the light turns green. "Diana," he prompts.

She turns off her screen and casts a look at him. "It's really nothing; my friends just cancelled on me tonight." He remains quiet and she tries to push out the growing frustration that she's been planning this for a solid week and it's only now, hours before, that all of these conflicts pop up. "We were supposed to go out," she sighs. "You know, do drinks and dancing."

He's silent again, only the sound of the turn signal clicking echoing throughout the car. "Alright, so what time tonight?" Diego finally asks, pulling her from her thoughts.

It takes longer than it should to piece together what he's offering, but the thought of _Diego_ taking her _dancing_ is just too much on so many levels. The most immediate level being how absolutely hilarious it would be to see Diego dance. The thought alone elicits a surprised laugh.

"What's so funny?" Diego asks, his brow furrowing. It's clear he wants to glare at her but the car ahead moves, and he takes his chance to make the left turn.

"You want to go dancing?" she asks, through giggles.

"And?" He sounds offended, but she's still trying to picture _Diego_ on the dance floor and every resulting image is sending her into further hysterics. He catches on, eventually. "You don't think I can dance!"

"Mm-mm," she hums, shaking her head, and there's literally tears coming down from her eyes as she pictures Diego doing the _Hitch_ dance at the club. God, he always knew how to pull you out of your spirals.

His face screws up into a frown, and she can vaguely tell he's annoyed. Unfortunately, she can't bring herself to care. "I'm a _great_ dancer," he protests, turning onto her street.

"Ok, ok," she says, finally calming down enough to stop laughing and wipe away the tears from her eyes. "Meet here at 9 and we'll decide on a place?" she asks as he pulls into a spot near her building.

He nods, still clearly annoyed, but he's a good friend, better than most, and doesn't rescind his offer. In return Diana gives him a beaming smile as she climbs out the door. Almost immediately she turns around and tap on the window. He raises an eyebrow and rolls it down.

"Yes?"

"You know you're not allowed to wear that, right?" she checks, pointing at his black on black tactical uniform. He looks as if he's a real life Batman. Right now he's giving her the Batman glower. "I'm serious, Diego. Go shopping if you have to."

"Bye, Diana," he says, pulling away from her without even bothering to roll the window up. She smiles to herself and walks to her building's front door. She cannot wait for tonight.

* * *

Diego knocks on her door a few minutes after nine. It's tempting to give him a hard time about being late, to tell him that she thought yet _another_ friend had abandoned her in her hour of need, but seeing as he had to rearrange whatever plans he had in order to take her out dancing, she decides to let him off the hook.

She's kind of glad that she didn't come up with a witty line for when she opened the door because _holy shit, he's handsome._

In a way, he's stuck to the usual uniform. It's black on black, and he clearly has put no effort into his hair or shaving the stubble lining his jaw, but he's missing the usual tactical harness, armguards, and gloves. Instead, his arms are on full display, and while she's able to admire his muscles under his usual tight black shirt, it's nothing compared to what that short sleeved button up is doing for him. He looks broader, fuller, and more human than she's ever seen him.

"Look at you, all cleaned up," she says, allowing her eyes to run over his body under the pretense that she's teasing him. "Do a twirl for me," she demands, spinning a finger. He rolls his eyes, but slowly spins in a circle so she can admire each angle. "It'll do," she pronounces, allowing him into the apartment.

"Glad I meet the standard," he says, coming in further. She's still staring at him and are able to see the exact moment his eyes land on the two shot glasses and bottle of tequila placed out on the kitchen island. His eyes light up and naturally, he makes a bee line for the booze. Even more naturally, she follows him.

"We're gonna have a good time, then?" he asks, eyeing the tequila.

"Oh yeah," she confirms, grabbing the shaker of salt from the table on her way into the kitchen. Diego pours out a shot for each of them, sloshing a bit on the counter as she salts her hand. When she passes the salt over to him, their fingers brush causing a warm and tingling sensation to stir in her stomach. She probably shouldn't have already taken a couple of sips from the bottle. Maybe if she hadn't, she wouldn't be watching him so intently as he licks his hand. She's able to tear her eyes away to grab a lime and place one in front of him as he finishes.

"To a good time," Diego says, raising his glass to hers. She clinks her shot glass against his before swiping the salt off her hand with her tongue, following it with the silver tequila burning its way down her throat. Placing the glass down, she grabs the wedge of lime and bites into it, allowing the lime juice to ease the sweeten the sting.

"Mmm," Diana hums, taking the lime out of her mouth and placing it on the opposite edge of the cutting board from the rest of the lime slices. Diego places his wedge over hers and looks at her

"Another?" he asks, and well, she can't let the rest of the lime go to waste. Besides, even well drinks are expensive these days.

After their second shot, Diego moves to clean up the island as she watches. "Taxi should be here at 9:30."

"You decide on a place yet?" he asks, and she hums a yes, eyes on him as he places the bottle of tequila up with the rest of her alcohol. It's easy to blame the tequila, but she's not sure if that's 100% why she feelS the surge of almost overwhelming tenderness for him.

"Hey, Diego?" her voice comes out a bit smaller than she'd like, and he notices too because he turns to face her immediately, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for coming out tonight."

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly, and his smile which always looks like it's caught between being a smirk and a genuine grin comes out. "We're supposed to be alone together, right?"

"Right," she agrees, and she's certain he'll see the affection glowing off her like some kind of aura. Except he turns quickly back to dump the cutting board and knife into the sink.

"How's all that going by the way?" he asks, still bent over the sink. He has to mean dating. Or maybe her feelings. She's proficient in Diego-speak but she's not sure if she'll ever be fully fluent. He's hard to read his words; it's much easier to read his face.

"I think I meant what I told you," she says with a sigh. "I think I'm done with all that."

He turns around to face her then, and she can see the concern and sadness on his face. Sympathy is a rare emotion for Diego, and she doesn't like how it makes you feel. "Look, if you want to find someone, you can't give up."

"It's just hard to put myself out there when I _know_ none of them are right," she says, frustration and an aching loneliness fizzing under her skin. "You know? None of them are you." The words come out too fast to stop, and it takes less than a breath to wish she could grab them out of the air. Her face is growing hot, but she pushes it back down and quickly tries to remedy the situation, "I mean none of them are _like_ you."

He seems a bit frozen as well, assessing, and she wishes to God that she had another shot of tequila right now to take her attention off of the way his brow creases slightly and mouth turns down. "You don't want me," he says finally with a shake of his head.

She does.

She _really_ does.

"What's wrong with you?" she asks, not liking his tone or the way he's still frowning slightly and can't meet her eyes.

He shakes his head again but steps forward to stand across the island from her. "I'm not going to psychoanalyze myself, but I gotta lotta shit. I don't know if you could put up with two of us. And I'm not letting you throw me away for some guy who came after."

She sits there quietly, taking in his words and trying to hear what he's saying. What he's _really_ saying underneath and she don't like any of the deductions she's able to come up with. "Diana?" he asks, tilting his head slightly, and she knows she's been quiet too long right after he's been as vulnerable as he can be.

"You know I don't consider it putting up with you, Diego-right?" she asks quietly. It's important he knows. He has to know at least _that_.

He gives an attempt at a smirk, but it doesn't make it to his eyes. "What else would you call dealing with my bullshit?"

She reaches out to him, wiggling her fingers in an insistence that he take her hand. It takes a second, and some aggressive eye contact for him to take it, but when he does, she folds her hand over his, smoothing over the knuckles with her thumb. There are scars there. Probably from his childhood. Or last week. "I'd call it returning the favor."

He snorts but doesn't take his hand away. Instead he squeezes her hand, and she knows he'll never tell her that he loves her, but this feels pretty close. She squeezes his hand back.


	3. in my feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is hard. But it's even harder when both parties can't see what's right in front of them.

If she had to guess, the reason she's put up with Diego's vigilantism for so long is because they so rarely cross paths in the field. 

He takes the “action calls,” the ones in the 10-30s, or that would be if he heard them from his scanner and not his contacts on the streets. Diana, however, is focused entirely on domestic incidents. 

It's easy to trace this back to their childhoods. For Diana, the calling developed as she huddled in her closet, hands over her ears and clothes piled on top of her as if she were playing hide and seek. It solidified at the funeral, with the look on her mother's face at the funeral as she tasted freedom for the first time in thirteen years. It’s a direct line from there to her work now. She tries to create more of those looks out in the world. Without the funerals.

For Diego, the calling was cultivated. It’s always been about the amount of successful missions and cases closed. As if the more victories he racks up, the more worthy he is of being alive. She thinks a part of him expects that if he hits some magic number, he can present all of his wins to his father and finally hear those words he's been so desperate for: _I'm proud of you_. She's always hated this about Diego. How it's led to him skipping over the means and focusing on the ends. Still, she's not sure she's ever hated it as much as she does in this moment.

Because at this moment she's seriously tempted to arrest the sonofabitch. 

He's leaning against her building waiting for her. She's not sure if he's been here the entire two hours she's been wrapping up the mess _he_ made or if he just got here. She hopes he's been waiting out in the chilly night for a while. She hopes he catches a cold. Or the flu. Or a fist to the throat.

"You're welcome, by the way," he starts immediately as she stalks past him, throwing open her front door. She doesn't bother to hold it for him, but he slips his foot in and nudges it open so he can follow her.

"Oh, we're not talking now?" he asks, and she angrily jabs a finger up. She's not going to have this discussion in public where he knows she'll feel obliged to be calm and civil. She's going to have it in the safety of her apartment when she can tell him what she really thinks of him. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the tick in his jaw as the two of you wait for her elevator. He's mad too which is absolutely ludicrous. He has no right to be. He should be feeling sorry, guilty, ashamed, repentant, remorseful even. Not mad.

The doors slide open, and the two step on, standing on either side of a woman holding her laundry basket. Diego steps forward and jabs the button so hard she's surprised it doesn't shatter. The woman gives him a questioning glance out of the side of her eye and takes a slight step towards Diana.

It's a silent ride up in the elevator, and a poor woman who lives three floors above Diana probably feels like she's suffocating from the amount of tension in the small metal box. She audibly sighs when the doors slide open, and the two march out. 

Diana's stomps echo down the hallway before the she arrives at her front door, jamming the keys into the lock and pushing it open as angrily as she can without letting go of the doorknob. She's not about to destroy her apartment over this. Diego brushes past her, and even though she's practically shaking, she calmly shuts the door before she spins on him.

"You're out of your _fucking_ mind," she snaps, walking further into her apartment so she can place her bag down on a chair at the table.

"I'm out of _my_ mind? You're the one who went into that house alone," he argues back, and she holds up a hand as if to block the entirely stupid point.

"Newsflash Diego, you weren't supposed to have gone into the house, at. All. " 

"Don't act like you don't know what I do," Diego rolls his eyes. 

"What you _do_ is borderline illegal discount Batman shit. What I do is my fucking job. Which was a thousand times harder tonight thanks to you and having to clean up your mess," she drops her hand so it smacks loudly against her thigh. It stings a little, but she's too livid to regret the action.

Diego narrows his eyes at her. "Nobody saw me go in. Nobody saw me leave. Not even him." 

"You left your knife, dumbass," she spits, pulling the evidence baggy from her pocket and tossing it at the ground near his feet. 

"I'm not a dumbass," Diego says through clenched teeth, but she can see his face change slightly as he stoops to examine the bag. "You took this from them?" The recognition on his face as he pockets the knife looks somewhat close to regret. But not enough. 

Instead, she's the one who has the bad taste in her mouth. Who feels dirty. "I told them it was mine," she says, shaking her head. She hated to do it. It made her no better than those shoot first, ask questions later cops. Or the ones who covered up lapses in protocol for their partners or cousins's sister's best friend's son-in-law. 

"You didn't have to do that," his voice is softer, but it's lost some of its edge. 

"I know. But I wouldn't have even had to make the decision if you hadn't taken it upon yourself to come in and do things your way without reading the scene first," she shakes her head at him. "Jesus, Diego. We didn't need some masked vigilante in there, we needed someone trained in de-escalation techniques."

"And how were the de-escalation techniques working for you?"

"I had the situation under control."

"I wouldn't call having him turn the gun on you 'under control.'" Diego's voice is sharp again as he throws the words at her with the same careful precision he throws his knives. 

"I made sure everyone was able to get out of the house safely."

"And I made sure no one got hurt. Including you and the psycho with the gun."

"If anyone was the psycho in that house, it was you!" She's so frustrated and angry she can feel the tears building behind her eyes.

"Psycho?" Diego repeated, eyes wild. "I did what needed to be done--" 

"He didn't _need_ a knife to the hand. He needed someone to help calm him down enough to take his medicine. Those parents didn't need their son to get arrested. They needed their son to get help."

"His finger was on the fucking trigger," Diego bit back.

She stops for a moment, pulling herself up to her full height so she can stare him in the eye. "And if he had shot me because all of the sudden he was under attack, that wouldn't have been on him. That would have been on _you_." 

Across from her, Diego's face goes blank and his pack straightens. "You really think I'd put you in danger."

"You did tonight. Some fucking hero you are." 

Diego swallows, his mouth drawing tight as he nods to himself before pointing at her. "F-fuck you and your fucking m-m-moral high horse. I saved your life." Diego stalks over to the door, wrenching it open with a last look at her. "She's just like everyone else from the academy."

Diana's not thinking when she picks the remote up off the couch and wings it at him as hard as she can. With a small wave he easily deflects it, sending it spiraling into the wall. A sharp snapping sound comes from the plastic seconds before the door slams closed. She walks forward to lock him out, and it's as she slides the deadbolt closed that her eyes fall on the broken remote which lies in pieces.

It's that stupid remote that makes her break down into tears. 

* * *

He hears the broken sob from the other side of the door. 

It makes him feel like shit, which is total bullshit given the fact that he saved her life. And she hadn't even so much as _acknowledged_ it.

This is the thought which stokes at the anger inside of him, chasing away all feelings of shittiness.

He shouldn't have even had to save her life. She never should have walked into that house without backup and tried to talk down a man who clearly wasn't in his right mind. She should have made sure there was no gun first. 

When that man had turned the gun on her, after spewing out all of that shit, Diego hadn't thought. He acted on instinct. _Protect._ And it had led to the gunman being taken down, the house being deemed safe, and her being able to walk out the front door alive.

She should be grateful. 

She shouldn't be crying.

She should have known better. 

She _did_ know better. 

It's the reason that he even bothered to respond to the dispatcher's call on the scanner. She's the one who told him about how easily domestic calls went south. How she always felt better when there was another officer on the scene with her. So when he heard that she was the responding officer and nobody else called in back up, he knew he had to go. He had to be there for her. 

The words come up unbidden--something she said to him when she explained why she even wanted to focus on domestic calls in the first place. _"We're supposed to protect and serve. Everyone just forgets the second part."_

He had gone in to protect. She had gone in to serve.

He's starting to feel more like shit again. Which in turn, makes him more angry.

He wants to punch a hole in that wall. He scrambles to his feet and almost does but another choked sob from behind her door stops him. So instead, he walks down the hallway, takes the stairs down to his car, and drives home to the boxing gym where he can punch as much as he wants. And maybe someone can give him a reason to make him feel so beaten.

* * *

They haven't spoken in a week. Which is fine.

She's been too angry and too busy anyway. Between paperwork and court and everything else work was throwing at her, she's hardly had time to sleep let alone process the fight. Because it's definitely work stress that's kept her from sleeping.

Still, she needs more time to get over Diego's stupidity and selfishness and maybe even make sense of the tinge of guilt she's feeling for absolutely no reason whatsoever. She needs to get to a point where she stops feeling furious every time she thinks of that night. When she does finally speak, she wants to be able to talk it out like a reasonable human adult. So yeah, if she had things her way they'd continue this radio silence for at least another week. Maybe less if his sorry ass crawled back to her apartment with the apology she deserved.

Of course, she should have known from the very beginning of this date that things were _not_ going to go her way. That said, she's not sure if she ever could have expected them to go so wrong that she'd find herself sitting by the ring where Diego has currently thrown a right hook under the other fighter's guard and into the ribs. 

She is so done with Tinder.

The timer buzzes and the referee shouts and the crowd roars as both men retreat to their corner. It's a cacophony of madness, but it all sort of dulls as she stares at Diego breathing heavily, waving off the offer of a water bottle like the dumbass he is. His eyes are on the judges waiting for the pronouncement. Hers are too. The moment his fight is over, she's done. She's going to the bathroom and never coming back. She'd feel bad about the cliche but what kind of guy says he's "got tickets to a great event downtown" and means an amateur boxing match.

She's so busy attempting to identify a path out that she jumps a little when a voice echoes throughout the room, " _Your winner, Diego 'The Kraken' Hargreeves!_ " 

There's a huge cheer with a few boo's mixed in, but the dissent is quickly drowned out by the clapping. Her date rises to his feet, and so do those around her, blocking her view of Diego and his defeated opponent.

She's fairly certain she's the only person in this room not making a noise. As such, she takes her chance to leave, shuffling around the cheering people and tossing "excuse me's" and "sorry's" back into her wake. No one seems too put out though. No one even seems to notice. A quick glance back at her date confirms that even he hasn't registered she's gone--and if he has, he's certainly not looking for her. His hands are cupped around his mouth as he shouts something at the ring. When she turns around it's only because she's run smack into someone. She jolts back as something cool spills against her arm and the man in front of her lets out an angry shout. His beer is half empty, and while she's not exactly thrilled that it's soaking through her shirt, she doubts he'll be happy if she wrings it out back into his plastic cup.

"I'm so sorry," Diana apologizes, squashing down the minor annoyance that he's clearly blaming her even though it takes two to not watch where they're going. "I'll buy you a new one."

He grumbles, and she can hear him griping about the spilled beer to his friends as she heads up to the bar. She forgot to get his drink order but takes a stab in the dark and orders a Miller Light. And then asks for a stack of napkins.

By the time she's finished the transaction, he's gravitated back towards the ring. The next fight has started--the headlined fight--and the beer in his hand is almost empty. When she gives him the new one, he takes it with a grunt of thanks, and she's so busy rolling her eyes as she turns her back on him that she's not even scanning the crowd like she should be. That's why it catches her completely off guard to hear her name called. 

* * *

"Diana?" 

It doesn't make sense. She shouldn't be here. She never comes to his fights, not after she saw him get his ass handed to him that one time. 

That one time was a fluke. He'd been distracted. He and Patch were fighting, and then she surprised him by walking in and sitting right by his corner, staring up at him with big eyes, and he just couldn't focus on blocking as much as he should have. His form was sloppy. He'd caught a punch in the liver and gone down. She'd been so worried that she'd tried to approach the ring. It was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of his life, curled up on the canvas and struggling to catch his breath as he listened to her argue with the ref.

He kind of feels like he's been punched in the liver again.

She turns to face him, and he can see that it _is_ her, and she doesn't look happy. Not as angry as the last time he'd seen her, but definitely not happy. He can't tell if it's because she's seen him or from whatever it was that's made her right side all wet. Whatever the case, she doesn't turn around and leave immediately, so he decides to move towards her. If she's here, maybe it's an attempt at peace. Maybe she's come to finally apologize.

"Why are you here?" It's supposed to be a question, but something goes wrong and it comes out like an accusation. She responds accordingly, crossing her arms and fixing him with a glare. 

"I’m on a date."

Oh. 

The answer kills all hope of an apology, instead raising a surge of jealousy and anger that he can't control. "I thought you were done with dating." This time it is an accusation.

Diana rolls her eyes which is a total cop out. It's what she does when she knows he's right but doesn't want to admit it. If he were smart he'd take the win. Tell her whatever the case, he's glad she came. They need to talk. They haven't been talking, and he's not sure if he can take it anymore. He'd even take her yelling at him. Maybe that's why he continues.

"Must be a real winner to get you out here. I couldn’t even do it in--what's it been--5 years?"

"Fuck you," she spits out. It stings more than the cut on his right cheekbone. "If I knew he was taking me here, I never would have agreed to it. Especially if I knew _you_ were fighting."

He feels like there's more to that sentence than he fully catches onto. Instead, he finds himself tripped up over just one small part of it. 

Why didn't she know where she was going?

"You know you’re not invincible right?" Diego asks. "You're just a regular woman. You need to stop making shitty ass decisions that put yourself in danger. Like knowing where she's going on a date. Driving yourself. Not walking alone into a house where a guy has a gun and no control over himself ."

"Before I dig in to your levels of misogyny, I just want to remind you that I’m a fucking cop. I’m trained to defend myself and other people. Just because I’m not some comic book character doesn’t mean I’m helpless."

He lets out a bitter laugh then. "You are way more vulnerable than you think you are."

"And your hero complex is showing," she shot back.

He's so caught up by that fiery look in her eyes and trying to make her _get it_ that he doesn't notice the man approaching until he's hovering right over Diana's shoulder. He looks confused and a bit wary, but makes the poor decision to open his mouth anyway.

"Everything ok?" He asks, laying a hand on Diana's back. Diego wants to rip it off and shove it up his ass. From the look on her face, Diana wouldn't object.

"Everything’s fine," Diego says, giving a strained smile. The man casts an unsure glance down at Diana for confirmation. Diego has about three seconds of self control in him before he grabs Diana and whisks her away from this asshole who took her here of all places for a date. 

She puts on her company smile, and nods at her date, stepping just outside of his touch. "We're friends. I just ran into him on my way back from the bathroom." 

Diego scoffs. "Oh we're friends now?" 

Her head whips to face him, he's surprised she didn't break her neck. He's also surprised he's not dead from the daggers she's staring into him. But what's even more priceless is the guy's look as his eyes shoot between Diana and Diego. 

Diego can read the various stages of his mental process on his face. Confusion. Deeper confusion. Understanding. Awkwardness. Slight fear. Diego smirks.

"Oh. Gotcha, ok. Look, I don’t want to get into the middle of whatever—of anything." So much for white knight coming in to save the girl.

Diana catches on then, and she looks both murderous and horrified. "No, it’s not like that. We’re just—"

"I get it. You really don't have to explain. It’s cool," he says to her, backing up a few paces. "Sorry dude," he apologizes to Diego, giving him a head nod before turning around to hurry off to wherever. 

"Why’d you do that?" she snaps.

He raises his eyebrows and looks like the picture of perfect innocence. "Do what?"

"You made him think—-the way you said it—" she’s floundering, and he feels rather smug about it. It always feels good to come out on top. 

"I asked if we were friends because it sure as hell hasn’t felt like it this past week."

She draws back, anger leaving her and replaced with a look that erases all of his self-satisfaction. "You really think we aren’t friends anymore?"

"I don’t know," he says, because he can't help himself. He can see it cut her deeper as she blinks twice and the nods, spinning on her heel and taking off. 

He feels like shit. 

* * *

7 years. 7 years of friendship down the drain. She didn't even want to think about how for 6 and a half of those years, she stupidly held out hope that one day Diego could like her. She feels like an idiot. A heartbroken idiot. 

There's a part of her that wants to go back into the gym and apologize. She doesn't want to lose Diego over this. Not when the guy from the call was just released into psychiatric care last week. Not when Diego's right, and it's entirely possible that he _was_ going to shoot her.

Still.

If she means so little to him that he's willing to throw her away after one nasty fight, maybe it's not worth investing in year 8. Her insides hurt with an aching kind of pain, and all she wants to do is cry. She's not sure if it'd make her feel better, but it'd at least give her something to _do._

It's too public right outside the noisy and bright gym to have a break down, so she starts walking towards the park she saw on her drive in. It probably closed at dusk, but she knows from experience that unless someone calls, no one's going to be kicking her out. 

It doesn't make sense how things could end like this. Two weeks ago, Diego had been pulling her close to him on the dancefloor, making sure she didn't get roped into dancing with "some ugly sonofabitch." They'd spent the night laughing and drinking, and he'd even given her a begrudging piggyback from the cab to her apartment.

And now he doesn't know if they're friends.

Feet pound against the pavement behind her, but she doesn't look. It’ll kill her if it’s not him. 

"Diana, wait."

A small feeling of relief blooms inside her, but she doesn't stop walking. She does slow down.

"I didn’t mean that," he says. She keeps walking. The small patch of green is only a few yards away, and she wants to make it there rather than doing this on the sidewalk. 

"Then why’d you say it?" The words don't have the same heat or edge as what she's said in the gym. Instead she just sounds kind of tired and done. 

"Cause I’m an idiot." He also sounds done. And there's a bit of desperation there that makes her feel just the slightest bit better. "What do you want me to say to fix this?"

She pauses then, a few feet away from a bench sitting underneath a street light. But she can't wait anymore. Not when he sounds like _that._ "I want you to tell me we're gonna be ok."

"Hey," his fingers brush her arm, gently spinning her around to face him. He looks the way his voice sounds. Eyebrows knit together, lips turned down into a frown, eyes pleading. "We're gonna be ok. I'm not letting you go."

Her shoulders drop, and she feels a bit like she's melting. Like she can't stay up on her feet for much longer now that all of the emotions carrying her this far have deserted her. So instead, she walks into his arms, tucking herself in tightly against him. "You fucking scared me."

"Yeah, well, you scared me first," he says, wrapping his arms around her and resting his cheek on the top of her head. 

The two stand like that, clutching each other on the park's path, just outside the pool of yellow light cast by the street lamp but close enough that their shadows stretch long behind them. 

"What are we doing Diego?" she mumbles into his chest. He smells like sweat and beer and that slight musty smell that always lingers in a gym. But she doesn't really care. She probably smells like beer too.

"Being a couple of dumbasses," he murmurs back, and she gives a sad laugh in response.

"I don't want to fight with you," she admits to his black singlet. "I hate this." 

"Me too." 

"You wanna sit?" She finally looks up at him and catches his eyes as he stares down at her. A thought flickers across his face, but he just nods and releases her, allowing Diana to lead the way to the bench. She sits down at the edge, allowing Diego plenty of space on the other side of the bench, but he sits close enough that if she moved her leg just slightly to the left, they'd be touching.

Despite the fact that they're talking for the first time in a week, she doesn't know how to start this. Diego doesn't like to talk about feelings. He likes to talk about thought and opinion and facts. Seconds stretch by as she tries to find the right words--the right approach, but sometimes there just isn't the right thing to say. She hopes that just saying _something_ is the right thing.

"It hurt that you didn't trust me," she admits quietly. "That you just took over and did things your way. It felt like you cared more about getting a win than letting me do my job." 

"That's not it," he shakes his head. 

"It felt like it," she insists. "It felt like you didn't think I could hold my own."

"I know you can," he says. He looks out into the dark park, allowing her to study his profile. "I just couldn't stand there seeing a gun pointed at you and do nothing." he shrugs and looks down at his feet, his mouth wavering for a second. She wants to say something, but she still doesn't have any words. 

"You put yourself in danger just to try to help some stranger with a gun, and it made me…" he trails off. "I can’t lose you." He shakes his head then. "You're just...everything to me."

This is the closest Diego's ever come to an I love you and it hurts. Because she wants those words--these words--but she wants them so differently from how he means them. You wants him to love her in all the ways possible to love someone. But he doesn't.

"I know," she says, a cracked smile attempting to make its way onto her lips before slipping off into non-existence.

He shakes his head again, "No. I’m not saying this right." Diego leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and eyes. his head in his hands. His fingers thread themselves through his hair. "Fuck this is hard." She reaches out and puts a hand over his knee, squeezing it gently to show him she's there and can wait--she will wait for whatever it is he wants to say.

He turns to her then, a look in his eye, and she doesn't realize what's happening even as he leans in. Even as his face gets blurry, she finds herself feeling like this can't be real--it doesn't make sense, so she leans back and his lips miss hers. At the feeling of air, he opens his eyes.

"What are you doing?" she breathes, heart pounding because _what was happening._ Her head is whirring, and she can't wrap her mind around the fact that _Diego_ just tried to kiss _you._

"Nothing." he flushes, leaning back into his seat.

"Were you gonna kiss me?"

"No," he shakes his head too rapidly, moving his attention out to the dark park. "I got hit in the head one too many times."

She places her hand on his cheek then, turning his head to hers as she leans forward, brushing her lips against his. It’s short, and she'd be tempted to call it sweet if it weren’t for the fact that three seconds in Diego’s hand comes around her waist to scooch you closer. Maybe that’s still sweet. But when she lets go and sees him blinking at her, irrepressible happiness blooms in her chest. He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and she leans her forehead against his. 

And they both just know.


End file.
